Unstable
by THE-PENGUIN-FANGIRL
Summary: Anita Johnson is crazy. She killed her father, her mother died a long time ago, and her sister thinks she's a monster. The only person who trusts her is Caylub Hartum, and quite frankly she doesn't trust him. What happens when she and Caylub are from different races, and the government is extremely racist? This is her quest to leave the messed up society she is living in.
1. Chapter 1

**I got this idea from the Divergent trilogy, but I own most of it. This has no characters from Divergent, Insergent, and Alegiant, or places. The only thing directly from Diverent is the truth serum**

I wake up on a cold surface. When I stir, I hear and feel the crinkle of paper underneath me. I unwillingly open my eyes and observe the room around me. I'm sitting on an examination table. The only thing in the room besides me and the table is an other table, but smaller, shorter, and a tray on it. I rub the sleep out of my eyes. When I look again, I see that the tray is filled with syringes and needles.

I scream, and throw my self back onto the examination table. I gasp short, ragged breaths, my heart counting the seconds for me. I never take my gaze off of the one syringe with a clear liquid in it. That is the only one that holds content. I claw at my face, my hospital gown, anything my overgrown fingernails can find.

I feel a hot stretch on my face. When I put my hand to it, I feel something wet, sticky, and warm. I look at my hand. There is red on my finger tips. Blood. I momentarily forget the syringes and am more concerned with the state of my face. I am not vain, I have even purposely made myself a train wreck. What does concern me is that I am bleeding. I have clawed at myself nearly every day back at our apartment, for twelve years and had never bled from it. So why was I bleeding now? The hospital had even applied a strengthening moistener to my skin every night.

I stare at my gross nails. They are nearly and inch overboard, but with no dirt caked in them. I don't think there is dirt around here for miles. They aren't pointy, because I don't bite my nails, and I haven't seen a nail file in the year since I've been here, not like I would purposely make them daggers. So what would make me bleed?

I sigh and let the matter go. I'm in the "hospital for mentally challenged children and young adults", which is pretty much a house for nut jobs. Like me. They found out last year when I killed my father. Red hot anger fills me when I think of him. He's the one who passed it down to me. He's the one that should be in the mental hospital, if not jail. Of course that's not possible, because he's dead, but be deserved that. He broke my younger sister's leg when she didn't do her chores and back-talked to him. That was when I was five, and he told the police it was me. They let me off then, but kept their eye on me. I couldn't sleep for the rest of my life. _My father purposely hurt my sister._ A year later, he hit me in the head with a candle stick. Again, for the rest of the week, until I finally swore on my life that I would not smuggle candy to my sister after she had been bullied. Then the injuries were for more serious stuff, like sneaking out after curfew, holding hands with boys, making myself cake when I was home alone, and stuff like that. The punishments to me only hurt me on the outside, not on the inside. But the punishments to my sister killed me. One day he was giving her a beating when I snapped after all those years. I yanked the wooden spoon from my father's hand and wacked his face with it. I shoved it towards his mouth, nocking out a few teeth. I stepped on his foot, punched his gut, tightened his tie until his face was purple and whispered, "You never touch her again, asshole." I yanked the tie and my father dropped dead.

I don't regret anything. He hurt her too many times. I know I killed someone, and the someone was my father, but he was committing child abuse. He was hurting his own children. And I couldn't bear to see my sister hurt. She moved in with our aunt, while the police put me in the mental hospital. I thought they were going to arrest me. When I asked the guy, he said, "I know what your father did. And you don't deserve to go to jail for defending your sister." Then he shut the door of the police car.

The door opens, interrupting me from my flash back, and a young man in a white lab coat walks up to me with a clipboard in hand. Once his is close, I see how startling blue his eyes are. Like the color of the sky on a summer day. His wavy blonde hair shakes when he walks towards me. The boy extends his hand.

"Hello, I'm Caylub Hartum. I assume you are Anita?" He speaks in a cute Australian accent. His eyes drift towards my forehead. "Your bleeding."

"I know."

"I will be asking you about your past and you will answer honestly. It's a little test the government wants from every patient." I know he's lying. Everyone here is here because of a deformed brain or something that has nothing to do with their life. I'm the only one here that they treat like a prisoner.

"I'm not going to answer any of your questions." I saw as strong as I can. I speak honestly. I don't want to talk to anyone about my life. The only person I trust is my sister, Cata, and I haven't seen her in a year. Why would I tell this random person everything I have keep secret?

"Sorry, but you're going to have to." He says, his eyes drifting towards the syringe. _Oh no._ I think. _That's a truth serum._

"Ok, ok, I'll do your damn test so I don't get injected with a damn needle that's going to make me tell you every damn detail about me!" I yell. Caylub flinches when I shout at him. "But your little 'government approved test' will have to wait, ok pretty boy!"

Caylub looks genuinely shocked. I bet no one has ever yelled at him before. He looked so at ease a few seconds ago. He doesn't even know how evil life can be.

"I'm sorry, Anita. I'll leave." Such a fake. He gets up and walks to the door when I stop him.

"I'm not blind, as you should already have noticed, and I can see right through your lies. There is no way in the freaking world that I'd fall for that." That boy must be half transparent, because I can pretty much read his mind. He shrugs and walks back to the examination table.

Once seated, he notices the goosebumps on my arms. "You chilly?" He asks. I nod. He gets up and kneels in front of the bed. He gestures for me to pull my feet up on the table. He presses a panel, and a drawer popped out, filled with hospital gowns, white t-shirts, white baggy jeans, and white sweaters.

"Oh thank god!" I sigh, grabbing a sweater and pulling it on. I burry myself in the over sized, super thick sweater. I forget Caylub is even there, and fall asleep in it's warmth.

I have the weirdest dream. I was back in our old apartment, just how it was that day I killed him. The only thing that had changed was my father's body was not on the floor. Cata was frozen just how she was that day. When I look closer, I see something on my sister that I didn't see before. I see a tear swimming in her frozen eye. Why I am surprised, I don't know. Of course she was crying. She had just seen her sister kill her father. How ever un-fatherly that father was, she still cared about him. I am about to put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her when pain jolts me from sleep.

Caylub looks guiltily. He holds a syringe in his hand. I realize what he did.

"What the hell!" I shout. "You drugged that sweater, didn't you! You made me fall asleep so you could stick that needle in me!" Wow. His poker face is worse than his lies. I start to smile at his face.

"God, don't smile. Your making me feel bad." Caylub says. That just makes me smile more. He suddenly remembers why he came here in the first place. "Where is your father, Luke Johnson?" I try to resist the serum, but I open up against my will.

"In the grave yard."

"And why is that?"

"Because I strangled him." I say plainly.

Caylub looks genuinely mortified. "Oh kee doe kee. Next one." he searches his paper. "Where is your mother, Kristy Johnson?"

"In the grave yard next to my father."

"Why?"

"Father never told us how she died."

"Jesus, your poor sister was stuck in a house full of murderers," he mumbles, but not really trying to keep the words to himself. "Where is your sister, Cata Johnson?"

"Living with my aunt."

"No uncle?"

"She's single."

"Would you say you are emotionally stable?" New super annoying question.

"Definitely no." That's an obvious. We go on like this for an half an hour, before Caylub calls it a day, having collected all the questions he needs. He offers to walk me to the cafeteria.

"I don't need your help, pretty boy." I snap, and strut to the cafeteria for lunch. When I get there I wrinkle my nose. It's fish muck today. They call they meal "fish chowder" but it's so thick they should just call it "stinky slop that tastes like corn". I stand in line and wait for my turn to have the mush plopped onto my tray. Once I get it, I sit at a table by myself. I'm fine being alone. In fact people creep me out, because I'm so used to being alone in my cell. I zone out and finish my meal with out even looking at it. I put my tray away, and walk to the women's bath room. I stock up the shower I usually use, and hop in. The water's warm. _I must be the first person in this one._ I think. When I'm done I get a towel and observe myself in the mirror.

I look terrible. My scar pops out white against my skin, with a little blood still seeping through. My black hair is a rat's nest, from not seeing a brush in a month and from the towel. A couple of zits cover my forehead, but like I said, I'm not vain, so I don't care. I'm half Italian, and the boys at school would pick on me for "being from the pizza country but only weighing eighty pounds". I find it funny that Italy is known for olives and Italian people's completion is called olive. I start to wonder why they didn't hammer me for that but then realize they need a few extra brain cells to realize anything. I put my old clothes in the hamper and pick up some new ones from the cart. On my way back to the cell, I hear a conversation in the hall and press myself to the wall.

"Don't trust her. She killed the last person who pissed her off. For all we know, she could have killed half this hospital," am unfamiliar voice says.

"What makes you think that? That was a year ago and she was bound to snap at some point! You expect her to live her life being tormented and watching her sister be tormented? No! That would make anyone unstable!" The new voice is Caylub's. _Why's he defending me?_

"Exactly, you said it your self, only one year ago. She's mad, did you see that scar on her face?"

"Chuck, that scar was on _her_ face. Just let me visit her again. At least once." Caylub pleads.

Chuck sighs. "Fine, just once though." Caylub mumbled something of thanks, and I heard foot steps grow quieter, until I couldn't hear them any more.

I take the other route to my cell.


	2. Night conversation

**Hello everyone! If you are wondering how this connects to Divergent, you will find out in this chapter. Sorry if the story's to edgy.**  
 **  
**  
 **Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent.**

* * *

When I get back to my cell, I slam the door shut and lean against the wall. I lean against the wall and shake. A wave of emotionflows through me, making my shoulders rise and fall with sobs. My face transforms from the face of an18  
year old femaleto the face of a five year old throwing a tantrum. My eyes prickle with tears. I soon feel them run down my face.

What the hell was that Chuck guy's problem! What world does he live in where people _like_ killing their family! He thinks I want this?No one wants to be a murderer and live with it! And what the hell does my damn scratched upfacehave  
to do with anything?

I try to push past those questions, as they only reinforce my tears, but I can't. They peer around at every corner of me. I wish I could stick it up and be less of a pansycake, but I can't. 17 years of living with a crazed father who's not afraid  
to break my armand I can't even handle people talking smackabout me. What a pathetic little piece of crap I am.

I lie down on the cot, and without wanting to, fall asleep.

* * *

In my dream I amin a white room, so white I can't even distinguish the corners of the floor and the walls, or where the room even ends. The light seems to come from the sheer raidiance of the color on the walls. Around me, I see random household  
objects scattered. A distance away, I see him.

His eyes are the same way they were on the last day. Filled with rage and fear. They mirror mine, down to the last freckle. We are both angry for very different reasons.

He grabs a glass bottle, and breaks it against his leg. I try to run away, but hegrabs my arm and holds me still. He brings out a shard of glass and positions it to my neck.

"Let go of me!" I scream. "Let go of me you asshole!" I struggle and kick his doubles over in painand I yank out of his grip.I find a jump rope and kind of turn it into a noose. I wrap it around his neck.

"Please..." my fatherchokes, before I pull the rope taught for the hundredth time, making my fatherdropdead once again.

That is one of my simulation fears. My father. Now knowing I killed someone has crept in my dreams. I think about this as I stand over his body, when it stirs.

I bolt up in my cot. My breaths are heavy and ragged. _He survived_. I am to scared to realize that it was a dream, not real life, and dreams don't make sense.

I can't go back to sleep. I pace my cell at least a million times before I hear a nock. I don't even have to open the door to know who it is. Even if I hadn't eves dropped on him, he's the only person with an individual mind on they're ownI've  
made contact with in 6 months.

"Come in." I say. He does. Caylub is wearing blue and white striped PJs. I imagine bunny slippers on his bare feet and stifle a laugh. Caylub gives me a quizzical look. I just shake my head.

"Why areyou awake?" He asks me. "It's midnight."

"I'm nocturnal."

"Ha ha."

"No really, I sleep in until noon and say up until four in the morning." I notice the sleepy look in Caylub's eyes and say, "I don't even get tired," Just to be mean.

"God, how do you do it?" Caylub rubs his eyes.

"The wonderful wizard of caffeine." I sing. "Added with the power of otps." I know you might be wondering how I get books and laptops, but it's not hard to steal one.

"What the heck is an otp?"

"It means one true pairing." I pull out the drawer Caylub showed me earlier that day. After rummaging around, I pull a silver apple laptopout from under the clothes. I open up a browser, and type in 'fourtris fanart'. The page loads almost instantly.  
A bonus of living full time in rehab, fastest wifi in the world.

"Okay, here we go." I mutter to myself as I click on a picture of a blonde girl with a lot of little tattoos (Tris)kisssing a strong boy with even more tattoos than the girl (Four). I point the screen at Caylub. " _This,_ is one of my otps."

"Sorry to break it to you Anita, but that's kinda disgusting." Caylub definitely looked disgusted.

"To you it might be." I scrolled on through the photos of fourtris.

"Um, how did you get that computer?" He swallowed. Why does that freak always look so uncomfortable?

For a second I considered lying to him, but it would be more fun to tease him. "I stole it from an employee here. You could shout 'I'm stealing your laptop and half the library!' And they wouldn't have a clue what you're gonna do."

"You couldn't steal from me."

"Yeah, I could."

"I'm not that dence."

"We'll see about that, pretty boy."

Caylub looks hurt. "Don't call me pretty boy."

I shrug. "It suits you."

"So you're saying you think I look attractive? Are you getting a crush on me? Would you like to see me every night?" Caylub asksin an I'm-picking-on-you voice.

I feel my face go bright red. "I do _not_ have a crush on you." I growl through gritted teeth.

"Thank god. That'd be awkward." Caylub muttered to himself, but I heard anyway.

"Well you made it awkward when you said I do like you in that don't even look that good." I looked down at the screen. "This ship passed you on the cute-o-meter by a hundred miles."I was looking at a picture of Tris and Four cuddling  
at the bureau of genetic welfare on the night before she died. I did my little fangirl screech combined with a sob.

Caylub looked up in alarm. "What the _hell_ was that."

"The song of my people." I say blankly.

"Nice song." Caylub startswalking towards the door, when he stopsand turns around to say, "Itwas fun talking to you, Anita." Then walksout the door.

I settle myself on the bed, and think of Caylub's piercing blue eyes and smile. I smile with him, and fall asleep, dreamlessly. 


	3. You can only be so crazy

**Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent**

First thing in the morning, when I wake up, I hear a nock on my door. I sit still, and don't answer, but exaggerate my breaths. That was he might think I'm still asleep. Ihear silence, aside from my breathing, and smile. I dodged him. My smile widensand  
widensuntil I look like a serial killer. I laugh. Not the cute innocent laugh when a person hears or sees something funny. In fact my laugh was the exact opposite. Both laughs show amusement, but my laugh was a whole different kind of amusing. I  
always start laughing nervously, but then see the blood on my fingers. Somehow seeing someone else's spilled bloodhelps me mentally cope. My laugh becomes stronger steadily.

The door bustsopen.

"I _knew_ you were in here!"

 _Dammit Anita_ I say to myself.

"Why didn't you answer the door? I thought you liked my visits? What was with that creepy laugh?" Caylub hammered me with questions.

"SLOW THE HELL DOWN!" I shouted. I looked at him menacingly.

"I should turn you in." I say in a cool, slippery voice. Caylub standsup strait, so he istaller than me. I laugh.

"You think that canthreaten me? Simpleheight?" I laughed harder. "No barrier of a wall can hide you. I will find you."

I dip my overly long nails into truth serum. I scratch it on his face.

"Tell me. Why are you always trying to find me?"

"Because I think your interesting and beautiful." Caylub barely says.

I blink. That was _not_ what I was expecting. I try to move on. "Tell me how to get to your home."I demand.

"When you leave the hospital through the truck loading place, you take a right, then a left at the next block, then another left at that block. I live in a big steel apartment building. Third floor, room 312." He seems to come to his senses again. "What  
the hell did I just tell you?"

I bang his head against the wall, splattering dark blood everywhere. He flops onto the floor, looking on the verge of death.

I shrug. _He'll live._

 __

I throw open the door and race down the hall, following signs that say "truck". I finally reach it, and there's. Ginormous semi truck trailer parked in it. I hide against the wall. I wait, and wait, and wait, until it leaves. I look around, and I don't  
see any eyes in the dark.

I feel it's safe to walk out. After looking around one last time, I speed walk to the largeopen garage door, if it can even be called that. 


End file.
